


Epaulets for Days

by Paranoia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Glitter is not beholden to God, M/M, No beta reader, Other, Taking a tour of questionable fashion choices, We die as we live: questionably incorrect, is it crack fic, we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/pseuds/Paranoia
Summary: Fashion was a concept far outside Aziraphale's skill set. Though, if you asked him, it was outside of Crowley's skill set too.--70s GlamRock Crowley crackfic. I'll have a picture to go with once it's been colored.





	Epaulets for Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you join a feral discord server. Ideas happen and then you have to write them and then you wind up drawing them at work. This is my first GO fic, written a while ago and only just now getting around to posting it. Whoops. 
> 
> This has not been beta'd at all.

It is 1972, and Aziraphale hasn’t see Crowley in just shy of 2 years. This is hardly unusual in the grand scheme of things, but since the church rescue they’ve seen an awful lot more of each other, nearly once a year. 

So, while it is not unusual, it is… noticed. Aziraphale had been thinking about Crowley quite a lot lately, as he often does when fashion seems to change suddenly for the more garish. He wonders if Crowley’s out there somewhere wandering around in some spandex monstrosity. 

Normally, Aziraphale was only moderately aware of the fashion trends going on, and usually they’d be on the way out before he’d properly noticed them anyhow, except not two weeks ago he’d practically been held hostage in the book shop by a customer who had wandered in and not so much as looked at the books before setting off on a very long, very detailed rant about how fantastic they found this ‘Glam rock’ to be. 

He’d let it go on a while, of course, because nothing kept a customer out quite like another customer going off at the counter, but Aziraphale was not an angel of limitless social grace. Three hours later, a dozen terrible glares, two false phone calls, and a handful of other normally reliable tricks and Aziraphale had finally snapped and pushed the interloper out the door with little to no subtlety and then locked the door six ways to Sunday. 

It had been about two hours since the encounter and Aziraphale had decided he was feeling a bit peckish and that it was perhaps time to give the new cafe a few streets over a try. He had just stepped into the main foyer of the bookshop, and was giving his waistcoat one last smoothing-down before leaving when his very locked doors swung open. 

“Crowley!” He happily trilled, knowing nobody else would bother with such a grand entrance and delighted to have someone to drag along for dinner. 

Except, when the doors revealed Crowley he was very much in fact in one of those ridiculous outfits he’d been seeing, even his face was painted up and shiny for heaven’s sake. Aziraphale might not keep up with the fashion of the time, but at the very least no one could ever say he’s looked like _that_. 

“Not another step you fiend” Azriaphale barked, halting Crowley’s advance into the shop. Crowley’s left foot hovered over the threshold, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Alright, Angel?” Crowley asked looking a bit wary as he set his hovering foot down, notably _inside Aziraphale’s shop_. Aziraphale crossed his arms, lips pulling down in distaste at the cheek to still set his foot down in the shop.

“You absolutely may not walk in here with that much glitter on. I won’t have it. I’d never be able to get it out of the books or the rugs.” Aziraphale made a shooing motion with his hands, beckoning Crowley to both remove the offending appendage and further make way for Aziraphale to exit.

“Fancy a bite then? Since you couldn’t possibly have a way to deal with glitter, mm?” Crowley was laughing at him, like he wasn’t painted into red faux-leather jeans or that the epaulets on his jacket weren’t large enough to land a spaceship on. The utter nerve to be dressed like that and making fun of _him_.

“I cannot believe I’m letting myself be seen with you, in that state” Aziraphale groused and the warm chuckle from Crowley was hardly the response he’d hoped to inspire. 

“Well one of us has to be fashionable, Aziraphale, and it’s hardly ever been you then, has it?” Crowley shoved his hands into his coat pockets, spreading the long black coat open to show off the faux-leather top and bottom combo, implying that the outfit was more impressive than mortifying.

“Tell me, Crowley, how do you feel about your Macaroni days” 

“It was the _one time_, Aziraphale!” The snake hissed back, voice stuck somewhere between amusement and indignance. Aziraphale only responded with a ‘mm’ that could be taken a great variety of ways and led them both into the shop, where a table had just miraculously cleared for them. 

And, if Aziraphale had also miracled a passing tourist with one of those instant polaroid cameras to take a photo of the offending outfit, well who could blame him?


End file.
